


skin to skin contact

by Skyuni123



Series: Tumblr is a Bad Influence [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Hugs, Infinity War doesn't exist fuck you russos, Learning To Trust People, M/M, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Sakaar (Marvel), Touch Aversion, Touching, Trust Issues, Whump, ragnarok happened and everyone got back to earth safely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2019-05-23 16:26:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14937809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyuni123/pseuds/Skyuni123
Summary: Bruce Banner is not good at touching.Years of medical experimentation and significant trauma does that to a man.A recovery fic!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> prompted by tumblr. prompt was 'tactile'.

Bruce doesn’t do touch. 

And really, he knows that’s a problem. Humans are innately social animals - he’s read enough case studies and spent long enough in certain parts of the world to recognise that. Touch is important. It grounds people, creates relationships, strengthens bonds, makes empathising easier. If he was a more poetic man, he’d even say that it’s lubrication for the soul.

But he’s not.

And it isn’t.

 

Something about years of medical experimentation and significant trauma does that to a man. 

 

There is, also, the whole matter of the Other Guy, and all the trouble he likes to cause. Bruce doesn’t like touch, so the Other Guy doesn’t like touch and thus causes Incidents whenever Bruce is touched, thus making Bruce dislike touch even more.   
  
It’s a really, really shitty feedback loop. 

  
  


Bruce has a  _ bubble,  _ okay? He dictates how close people get, the crowds he chooses to run in, and the moments when he can let loose a little. He can choose when he has to get close to people - like when he’s drawing blood or sewing them up - and he can choose when to step away. 

Hell, before Harlem… happened… he’d only gone to the supermarket late at night, because there’d been less of a chance he’d actually end up stumbling into anyone and having a damned panic attack about it. 

 

There’s a system. There’s rules. There’s things he does to stop the Other Guy getting pissy, and it works for him. 

 

Then Thor turns up and blows the whole system straight to hell.

  
  


It’s on Sakaar and he’s just turned back from the Other Guy after too damn long and everything is so BRIGHT and cold and metal and noise and sensitive and it’s just  _ too much. _

 

And he’s curled on the floor, faint nausea shimmering across his skin - there’s giant beads around his neck, what the fuck’s with the giant beads, they’re too large and heavy and sore - and then Thor (?!?!?) touches him on the back - and he’s sure he doesn’t mean anything by it, really, he doesn’t - but he can’t help but shy away.

Too much. Too much. It’s bad. Nausea rises in his stomach and he’s so close to puking on the floor of the Quinjet (?!?!??!?!?) but he staggers back and swallows it down. He’s done it before. He’s not going to do it now. 

 

“Sun’s getting real low.” Thor’s worried, though he’s clearly trying to bluff his way through it. 

 

Not that ridiculous fucking mantra. Come on. The Other Guy’s so far away from being an issue right now. He’s sleeping everything off. 

 

“Thor?” 

 

Where the hell is he? What’s going on? It’s been - he can’t even think in proper sentences right now. Too long. Too long as the Hulk. His head feels rotten. 

 

Of course, just to make everything worse, that’s when he learns that they’re both stuck on an alien planet and some maniacal dictator who looks a lot like Jeff Goldblum has been selling him for sport. 

If anyone touches him, he’s going to throw up.

  
  


Sakaar is bright. It’s lively and full of people and really, if he was more cognizant right now he’d be fascinated by the culture and the joy and the giant… Hulk… heads (????), but he’s also on the verge of an absolute breakdown.

Tony’s clothes smell like him, which isn’t actually a bad thing. If there’s one person in the world who’d actually be a comfort right now, it’d be Tony. A bit of joking about at his expense and strict restraint with his boundaries would be heaven.

Instead, he’s got Thor.

 

Who is ridiculously flaily and also talks a lot with his hands.

 

And look, Bruce gets it. Horrific violence and family troubles are far too close to his own existence, and Thor’s probably losing his mind internally right about now. 

It doesn’t mean he’s equipped to deal with the jitteriness of a rogue God. 

 

But then Thor talks about Bruce turning back into the Hulk one more time and Bruce just can’t take it anymore.

 

“Maybe the fact that I was trapped for two years inside of a monster made me a little weird!” And without meaning to he takes a step towards Thor, rage flooding to the surface unbidden, hot under his skin.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa -” Thor stumbles back, holding out his hands. It’s like he’s trying to be reassuring, but there’s a hint of panic behind his eyes.

 

Oh, the Hulk’s woken up. That’s what this is. Thor’s scared. No no no no no no. Dammit. The man’s just lost his father. 

 

Bruce has got to calm down. He clenches his fists. Breathes through it. He’s not going to do this. He’s not some... animal. 

Fuck.

  
  


Later on, Thor wraps an arm around his shoulders and draws him out into a bustling crowd. 

Bruce manages two steps before he staggers away and vomits into a pot plant.

Ah. Yes. This is scientific progress at its best. 

He  _ loves  _ living with this. 

 

\--

  
  


But despite everything, things start to go right?

They meet up with a Valkyrie - a honest to God  _ Valkyrie  _ \- and she’s beautiful and incredible and ridiculously cool, and she takes them to find Loki.

The Other Guy balks at seeing the trickster and roars so loudly that Bruce feels it to his toes, but he forces him back. To change now… It’d just be giving that tyrant what he wants.

 

They make their escape, Bruce drives an actual real spaceship (what the HELL) and they’re not dead yet.  _ He’s  _ driving them towards the giant wormhole Satan’s Rectum thing and they’re not dead! He hasn’t fucked it up.

  
  


The warm glow of relief makes him stupid. It brings down his guard. The Hulk’s a well of raw, untapped emotion, and it bleeds into him sometimes, makes him silly, and jittery and too, too human. 

Bruce says dumb things when he feels good, because it’s such a rare feeling. He calls Brunnhilde a goddess, beautiful, ridiculous true things. He lets Thor pull him from the pilot’s chair and he barely even feels it.

_ He  _ latches out and grabs onto Thor, pulls him down, uses him as a stabiliser as the ship shakes around them. It’s his bare skin on the back of Thor’s neck and he doesn’t hate it. It doesn’t utterly repulse him, because he’s too high on fear and excitement and joy and  _ what IF  _ that he can’t make himself stop. 

 

What if he turns back into the Hulk when they go through the wormhole? What if he’s stuck that way forever? What if- what if- what if?

 

He screams as much to Thor, throat raw with the energy pulsing through the room. It’s the ship. It’s the wormhole. It’s the two beautiful beings and him within. It’s way too much and just right all at the same time. 

 

“Strap me in. Whatever I do or say, don’t unstrap me.”

 

And Thor, hands somehow gentle despite the cacophony outside, does.

Bruce has felt worse things in his life.


	2. Chapter 2

“Banner?”

Hulk knows of Banner. Hulk likes Banner, sometimes. Hulk does not want to become Banner again. Banner is puny.

The yellow god - what is god, really - tries again. “Hulk?”

“What?” Hulk grunts and sits down.

“Could we please have Banner back? I really like having you around, man, but Banner was acting weird last time I saw him and I’d just like to keep an eye on him. I won’t hurt him, promise?” Yellow god holds out a hand. 

 

Silly. But Banner is in him. Banner likes the yellow god. 

 

Hulk sees the green god looking into the room. The green god is bad. The green god needs to be smashed. But Hulk is tired. His head is light. He yawns. “Banner will come back. He will not be there.” He points at the green god. 

The yellow god turns and looks. “Brother mine, I love you, but please, fuck off.” 

“Hmph. I know when I’m not needed.” Green god says, then is gone.

 

Good. Green god bad. Yellow god… not so bad. Yellow god is warm. 

 

Hulk rolls over and shuts his eyes. “Do not hurt Banner.”

“I never would, big guy.” 

  
  


Consciousness is tricky. It aches, all the way down to his bones. Everything is on the rough edge of painful, every movement sending sparks of pain arcing across his skin. It’s too bright, too loud.

Oh yeah, he definitely died on the Bifrost. Undoubtedly. 

He should probably be more concerned about that than he is, but right now, it’s just another fact of life. Humans are mammals, gender is a spectrum, and Bruce Banner definitely died colliding with a giant Norse rainbow bridge. 

 

Ouch.

 

It’s that moment of self-realisation that makes him take notice of his surroundings. Spaceship. Space. The hum of engines. Cool metal floors. Footsteps. 

Footsteps?

 

He turns over, and nope, that’s Thor,  _ way  _ too close. He’s holding a blanket, which is kind of him, but the point still stands. Right now, any touch could set him alight. “I really wouldn’t, if it’s all the same to you.”

 

Even that comes out raspy. 

Dying really does that to a man.

 

“Yeah, okay?” Thor furrows his brow, but tosses the blanket in his direction. With his usual trademark subtly, he asks, “You’re weird about people touching you, aren’t you?”

 

Bruce unfolds the blanket and pulls it over himself. It doesn’t feel  _ great  _ \- it’s a little scratchy and all - but it’s preferable to being completely naked. He sighs. He doesn’t really want to get into this. “I have reason to be, don’t you think?”

 

“Yeah - I mean, yeah, but it’s still weird?” Thor settles on the floor opposite him, mercifully blocking out some of the light trying to burn its way through his skull. He’s dressed in lurid gold sweatpants (Sakaar’s never going to be forgotten, it seems) and a tee. It looks… soft. Comfortable. “Like… I don’t quite… get it?”

 

Asgardians. So freewheeling with affection. He’d noticed that years back, and to all extents it hadn’t really been a problem. Their friendship - or lack thereof - wasn’t as fully formed as it was now. He’d seen Thor as a unique person, but nothing more, never anything more. “I spent years being experimented on by various government organisations, Thor. I can’t say that they were the greatest tactile experiences of my life.” 

 

“But surely you’ve had good experiences with people? You’ve been with women? Or men? Or - look, I don’t get your world’s whole hang ups with gender and all that, but surely not everyone’s wanted to hurt you?”

 

And bless his heart, he looks so put out. 

 

Bruce really doesn’t have the energy or the spoons to deal with this. He rasps, tiredly, “you honestly think I would voluntarily put myself in a situation with another person where I could lose control like that? Honestly?”

 

Thor looks utterly stunned, but Bruce can’t bring himself to care. He needs to go to bed.

  
  
  


Bruce sleeps for fifteen hours straight then wakes himself up by falling straight out of bed and onto the cold metal floor of the spaceship. He’d been dreaming again. They hadn’t been good dreams. 

It takes him three whole minutes to figure out how to use the bathroom (damn SPACESHIPS) and by the time he’s finished he realises that he’s starving. The rawness of his skin is gone - it doesn’t quite feel like everything in the world is going to harm him anymore, but things are still slightly too bright. And loud. 

Fed up with normal hangovers? Try  _ Hulk hangovers!  _ They’re a million times worse.

 

Mercifully, there’s clothes laid out for him next to the bed. An eyesore of a pair of pants and a hoodie. Thankfully some human culture has ended up on a Sakaaran ship, it seems. (He’s not sure if sequined purple pants are exactly human culture, but it’s better than the alternative.)

Food. He needs food. He shares that trait with a lot of the Avengers, in that regard. The caloric loss from hulking out is ridiculous. He’s so hungry it feels like it’s eating a hole through his gut and the Hulk is beginning to get annoyed about it.

 

Fortunately, as it seems the universe doesn’t want him to die just yet, he runs into Thor several metres down the corridor. The other man’s leaning against the wall in a way that suggests he’s trying to be nonchalant.

It doesn’t work.

 

“Were you waiting for me to wake up?” 

 

Thor pouts at him, and gestures for him to start walking alongside him. “Why would I do that? I was just… in the area. Obviously.”

 

“Mhmmm.” That’s very clearly a lie. 

 

It’s kind of him, actually. To care. That’s not something that tends to happen very often, especially after someone’s spent time in the vicinity of the Hulk.

 

“Oh, and I love the pants, by the way. Very fetching.” Today Thor has a pair of floral sweatpants on, and they fit him very, very well. Is this going to be a  _ thing?  _

 

Bruce had never realised that the main currency of space was sweatpants before, but hey, he’s been stumbling through quite the learning curve recently. “Fetching? We’re not even comparable. Come on, Thor, you look like a god in those things.”

 

Mmmm, yeah, that sentence could have been phrased better. 

 

Thor looks over at him and winks, very smarmily, “That’s cause I  _ am  _ a god, Banner.” And there’s a hint of arrogance in it, but he’s also very much not wrong.

 

Huh. He’s suddenly slightly more aware of why Thor has (or  _ had _ , as the case may be) so many fan clubs back on Earth. That’s interesting. That’s an interesting development, indeed. Huh.

 

“Anyway, I was thinking-”

 

“Dangerous.” Bruce interjects, because sometimes there’s nothing wrong with being a little bit of an ass.

 

“-shut up, Banner, don’t make me defriend you. I was thinking, and I’ve decided. I’m going to help you fix your little problem!”

 

“...my little problem?”

 

“Your, uh, intimacy problem?” Thor gestures in a way that’s probably supposed to suggest platonic intimacy, but comes out far more sexual than either of them really need. 

 

(Or at least, Bruce  _ presumes  _ it’s more sexual than Thor meant. He can never really tell with the man.)

 

He wants to help him? Seriously? He says as much to the god.

 

“We’re stuck together on a ship for the next three months, Banner, I need something to do.” Thor shrugs then grins wildly. “Besides, it’ll be fun!”

 

Bruce is not going to read too far into that. “Good luck succeeding where three trained psychologists failed.” 

 

“What’s a psychologist?”

 

Yes, this is going to work out  _ just fine.  _


	3. Chapter 3

It starts slowly enough.

 

Thor grabs his hand over the table during breakfast and absentmindedly runs his fingers over his wrist while he spoons some kind of weird glittery space cereal into his mouth and tries to talk at the same time.

It’s very endearing, actually, and it doesn’t make him want to throw up! Win win.

 

Brunnhilde plops down into a chair next to Thor with something that looks a lot like a large meaty tentacle skewered onto a stick. “What’s this then?” She asks, waving at their joined hands with the tentacled stick.

 

“Thor is trying out an experiment.” Bruce says, with a weary sigh. It’s not the first time he’s had to explain it today. 

 

“I’m going to cure him.” 

 

Brunnhilde rolls her eyes and chows down on some of the ...tentacle… kebab. “I never realised human mating rituals were so complex. For Vanaheim’s sake, just go out and-”

The gesture she makes with the tentacle skewer is very much on the hardcore porn side of things. 

“-That’s what I do.” She finishes, and sets the skewer down, then looks between them both, wide-eyed. “Something wrong?”

 

And look, Bruce isn’t a blusher. It’s not the sort of thing that he does. But he’s vulnerable right now, okay? He’s had a trying couple of years. “That’s… not- what this is.”

But the thing is, he  _ doesn’t  _ know what this is. He’s going along with Thor’s whims for the sake of it, but he doesn’t know how far it’s going to go. The thought should worry him, but for some reason, it doesn’t. 

 

“Yeah, I’m just being his psy- physio- psychologist?” Thor blinks, innocently.

Bless his heart, he has no idea what a psychologist even is. 

 

“Boys!” Brunnhilde throws up her hands and goes off and sits with a group of Asgardian women who presumably aren’t being as ridiculous as they are. 

It’s a start.

 

Later, he’s counting bags of dried foodstuffs in one of the giant larders that the ship has. Though it looks like they’ll have enough food for the trip back to Earth, it’s best to be sure. 

 

There’s a woman in the larder with him too, called Sigrid. A lot of the Asgardians are wary about being near him (perils of the ‘Hulk thing’, unfortunately, but he’s fairly used to it), but she seems oddly unworried.

Still, he keeps away from her, and shouts remarks through the shelves, because sometimes it’s better to be cautious. 

 

“You know the King, yes?” She asks, peering at him from between two burlap sacks.

 

He can only see one of her eyes. It’s a little disconcerting. “I do.”

 

“Is it true? That he is a free man again?” 

 

One day Bruce is sure that scientists will write countless dissertations on the Asgardian dialect, and how they managed to pick up such a unique way of speaking. However, today is not that day. “A free man?”

 

“Free from his betrothed? Alone once more? You understand?”

 

Single. She’s asking him if Thor is single. Why is she asking  _ him  _ if Thor is single?

The question irritates him for whatever reason, so he speaks more harshly than he probably means to. “Why are you asking me? Ask him yourself.”

His vision goes green at the edges.

Oh. Great. The Other Guy’s come out to play. He forces him back, breathes through it. If he goes green here he’ll just spill all of the flour, and then where would they be?

 

When he comes back to himself he realises that Sigrid’s fled.

How to make friends and alienate people. Good work, Bruce. 

  
  


Later that evening - time is irrelevant in space, but he’s been awake at least ten hours - he walks through an anteroom with a window out into space and nearly loses his mind. The Hulk takes one look, balks, and then turns away, apparently content not to look out of his eyes for a bit.

It’s the first time he’s done this.

It’s the first time he’s looked out into space and seen the stars so close that he could touch them if he wanted to.

He doesn’t like it. 

 

It seems to reinforce the fact that he’s just one man, alone, in a tin can that’s motoring its way across the universe.

 

Nobody else is a liability. No-one else balances on a knife-edge day in and day out, just waiting for something to go wrong. 

He could kill all of these people if he put one foot wrong. 

Damn.

 

He shouldn’t have come. He would have been better off left on Sakaar as a slave. At least he wouldn’t have accidentally hurt anyone then. 

 

His vision begins to narrow, but this time it’s not going green. At least it’s just a panic attack. At least the Other Guy’s not going to force his way back. 

He staggers against the wall and closes his hands into fists. The sharp prick of his nails against his palms registers, but only barely. It hardly equates to the pounding in his head.

Damn. He’s an  _ adult.  _ He should be better than this. 

 

No amount of thinking about that helps. He struggles to draw in a breath, chest tight over his ribs. This isn’t fine. This isn’t fine. This isn’t fine. This is too much. 

 

“Bruce?”

 

“Don’t touch me, Thor.” He throws out a hand, sparks going off in his vision. It hardly even occurs to him that this is the first time Thor’s ever used his  _ name.  _ “Please.”

 

He thinks Thor is worrying, but he can’t tell over the loudness of his thoughts and the jabs of pain in his chest. Breathing. He’s got to breathe.

 

“I won’t touch you. Sit down. Look at me.” Thor sits on the floor and crosses his legs, then beckons him down.

 

Bruce follows, knees protesting as he kneels. He still can’t draw a full breath and it’s really beginning to hurt.

 

“Before my brother got his magic, he-” Thor shakes his head and abruptly cuts that sentence off. “Never mind. Breathe with me. Full breaths. Right from down here.” He pats at his diaphragm with a hand. “It’ll help.”

 

And slowly, but surely, it does.

 

Bruce  _ knows  _ how to do this. He’s known how to for years. He’s used to coping with panic attacks, used to talking his way out of them, but sometimes, just  _ sometimes,  _ he can’t make them stop without help.

It’s defeatist to think, but he doesn’t feel like he belongs here. He’s a danger to them all.

Chest aching, with a cool sweaty slick coating his skin, he says as much to Thor. By this point, he’s got his head leaned back against the wall and he’s absolutely not looking at all the SPACE outside. “I’m a liability.”

 

“Is that another one of your ridiculous Midgardian words?” Thor asks, looking over to him with far less panic in his eyes now that Bruce isn’t actively losing his mind. “What does it mean?”

 

“It means… that I’m a danger. Just being here puts you all at risk. If I lose it again and the Hulk-”

The rest of the sentence is left unsaid. It doesn’t need elaboration.

 

“So I should have just left you on Sakaar?” Thor seems irritated by his words. Bruce doesn’t know why. “I should have left you as a slave? That man was selling you for profit. You weren’t yourself!  You were just- You were the Hulk. It’s good to have you back.”

 

“But I’m a  _ danger.  _ What happens if I lose control and damage the ship? I’m more powerful than anyone here and you know it.” 

 

“More powerful?” Thor scoffs, and looks him over with a practised and considering eye. “There’s a few people on this ship that’d challenge that. Myself included. Look, Ban- Bruce- I’m a  _ god.  _ Loki and Heimdall are  _ gods.  _ Brunnhilde’s a  _ Valkyrie.  _ Just because there’s another guy in your head telling you that you’re going to hurt us doesn’t mean that that’s the truth. If something went wrong, we’d be able to subdue you anyway.”

 

Huh, well that’s a challenge. Despite the pain in his… everything… the comment makes Bruce bristle a little. (It’s probably the Hulk). “I’d like to see you try.”

 

“Yeah, maybe when we’re on solid ground, big guy.” Thor reaches out a hand to him, as though he’s going to clap him on the back, but hesitates. “Can I touch you?”

 

Bruce takes a moment, thinks about how he’s feeling. Generally pretty terrible. He’s gross and filthy and needs to take the longest shower in the world. Mentally? Not too good either. 

He’s probably not going to freak out too badly if Thor touches him though. He’s too tired to utterly lose his mind. “Yes.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Yes.” He says, quickly, before he has time to lose his nerve.

 

“Oh, sweet, that’s good, because I’ve been wanting to touch your hair for ages.” Thor grins hugely, with the exuberance of a giant labrador. “It’s nearly as majestic as mine is- uh, was. How’d you do it?” He reaches out a hand, and brushes it through some of the curls on Bruce’s head.

 

Despite the utter filthiness of his body, and his sudden exhaustion, he doesn’t hate the feeling. It’s light, gentle enough so it doesn’t feel like an obligation, and actually fairly soothing. “I grew it myself.” 

 

Thor nods as though his sentence was legitimate life advice, and sinks his hand even further into Bruce’s hair. “Impressive. There wasn’t much hair like yours on Asgard. I always thought that…”

 

He runs his nails across Bruce’s scalp and behind his ear, right where the skin is thinnest. It doesn’t feel bad. It doesn’t feel bad at all. It’s soothing, sending cool shivers right to the base of Bruce’s spine, and he can’t help but to lean into the touch, welcoming it in, letting it encompass him whole.

He’s dozing before Thor’s even finished his story.


	4. Chapter 4

Bruce… avoids... Thor for a few days after that.

 

It’s not the touching thing. 

 

Really. 

 

He’s actually surprisingly fine with everything that had transpired between them. 

 

It’s the embarrassment.

Transforming from the Other Guy, back into himself and ending up naked in public? Totally fine. Bruce learned to mitigate that embarrassment  _ years  _ ago. Having a breakdown in front of a friend?

...Not so fine. 

 

It’s ridiculous, really. He knows there’s no reason to be embarrassed, knows that Thor would never judge him for that sort of thing, but it’s still hard to move past. Panic attacks are disgusting. They leave him feeling wide-open and raw for hours after the fact.

He really should be over this by now.

  
  


Instead of spending time with the Asgardians - look, he feels sorry for their plight, but they’re way too jumpy around him for him to be comfortable with - he spends the next week or so alternating napping, eating and tinkering with things in the cockpit.

 

Pilot’s cabin?

What do aliens call the ‘driving apparatus’ of their spaceships, anyway?

 

The cockpit is blissfully quiet and full of bizarre alien gadgetry. Bruce doesn’t actually have a PhD in engineering (that’s the one he’s missing out of his full set), but he knows enough to get by.

He’s not exactly trained in alien engineering, but by the fourth day he’s taken apart and reassembled so many gadgets that he thinks he’s getting the hang of things.

(At least, things made by the  _ specific alien race  _ that owned the Statesman before the Grandmaster did.) 

 

He’s beginning to feel a little more in control. The Hulk’s feeling calm, and dozing in a corner of his mind, and he’s starting to feel better.

Which is, of course, when Heimdall finds him.

  
  


It’s very possible that the thing Bruce is trying to reassemble is some kind of alien sex toy, but he’s has lived long enough not to judge. He’s hoping, whatever it is, that it’s clean. Back to the cockpit door, he leans over the tiny mechanisms, trying not to break anything as he lowers a piece back into place.

 

“Dr Banner?”

 

“Shit.” The voice startles him, and he fumbles with the gadget, but ends up snapping the little crystal he’s holding in half. “Damn-  uh, right.” He whirls around, nerves suddenly on edge. “Could you - uh- maybe not sneak up on me next time?”

 

“I am sorry.” Heimdall settles into the pilot’s chair, like he’s been sitting there all his life. “I assumed the door opening would let you know someone was coming in. I apologise.”

 

“It’s fine.” Bruce needs to stop jumping at shadows. He puts the broken pieces of crystal down. “You need me for something?” There’s no reason for anyone to venture this far through the ship otherwise.

 

“Mmmm.” Heimdall replies, non-committedly.

 

And that’s all he says. 

ALIENS.

 

“You’re making me a little antsy here.” Bruce says, and tries to see if there’s anything worth salvaging from the gadget he was taking apart. He doesn’t turn his back on Heimdall. He doesn’t think the other man’s a threat, not at  _ all,  _ but it’s better to be cautious. From what he’s learned from Thor, Heimdall’s  _ powerful.  _ He can see across universes. Who knows what he can glean from Bruce?

 

“I did not intend to.” Heimdall says, placidly. “The others have not seen you for many days, Doctor Banner. I felt that it was on me to seek you out on their behalf.”

 

“Why would you do that?”

 

“They felt as though they could not approach you. I believe they were worried.”

 

“Worried?” That is bizarre. He places the broken tech into a shallow pan and reaches for another gadget. “Why would they be worried?”

 

“You haven’t been seen in the dining hall or in the corridors for four days. I suppose they have precedent, don’t they?” 

 

If Bruce didn’t know any better, he’d swear that Heimdall was being  _ snarky.  _ “I needed some time to myself.”

 

“There is a difference between that and shutting yourself away.”

 

“I’m NOT, okay?!” And  _ wow,  _ that came out a little louder than he intended and suddenly the Other Guy’s up and jittering in the back of his mind. 

 

Heimdall doesn’t quite move back, but his gaze is considering. Almost curious.

 

“Sorry.” Bruce sighs, forces the Other Guy back, and jiggles his fingers on the desk. “I’ve got a bit green, haven’t I?”   
  


“Just a little.”

 

“Right.” Damn. He’s got better control of himself than this. It’s just… the length of time he wasn’t himself. The space. Thor’s… nonsense.    


It’s been a lot. He’s still finding it hard to keep Bruce  _ Bruce.  _ “I’m not hiding. Really. The Asgardians are just… a lot.” 

 

“There isn’t anything else that is keeping you away?” Heimdall’s gaze is piercing. It’s like he knows. 

 

(For all Bruce knows, he  _ does. _ )

 

It’s better to just get it out, he supposes. “I… panicked. Everything was too much for a moment. Thor saw. It was... embarrassing.”

 

“You are embarrassed because of Thor?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Heimdall laughs. It is a hearty thing, comforting. “You shouldn’t be. Thor has had his fair share of humiliating moments. He has just had longer to move past them.” 

 

Over a thousand years, or so Bruce thinks. He supposes a millennium or two alive does strengthen one’s coping strategies. But, still… “What on earth could embarrass a god?”

 

“Oh, everything.” Heimdall chuckles again. “Thor is a sensitive soul, and was even more so when he was younger. His brother would create such trickery - you could hardly even comprehend. I do fondly remember a time when Thor was chasing after a lad and was tricked into having his pants down in front of the entire royal court. Odin was very unimpressed.” 

 

“I bet.” Bruce snorts, and then a thought occurs to him. Curious. “‘Chasing after a lad’ - do you mean romantically?”

 

“I doubt there was much romance about it.” Heimdall strokes his beard, thoughtfully. “I do think they did intend to ‘enjoy each other’, or so to speak.”

 

“Huh.” 

 

That’s given him something to think about. He’d never- well, he’d never really  _ considered _ \- and then everything had happened… Huh.

 

“Thanks, Heimdall. I feel much better.” And he does. Genuinely. “I might leave this room for a while. It’s probably getting a bit rank in here, in hindsight.”

 

“I wasn’t going to remark on it.” Heimdall leans forward and flicks a switch on the control panel in front of him. He waves Bruce off. “Go. The ship and I will be fine.”

 

Bruce goes. 

  
-

 

He finds Thor wandering about the corridors near the dining hall.

(Surprise, surprise.)

 

It seems like there’s not much more to the job of being a king than comforting people and trading remarks, which is what he’s doing when Bruce catches up to him. 

Two Asgardians, a woman and a man, seem to be excitedly telling him some news, but they still as he walks up and eye him anxiously. 

Aliens. Really? 

 

“What-” Thor turns, spots him, and his entire face lights up. It’s like he's suddenly been given the best gift in the world.

 

Bruce hasn’t had such an exuberant welcome in years. “Hi Thor. Don’t hug me, yeah?” He warns, just because the Hulk’s still lurking in the back of his mind from earlier broadcasting severe  _ stay away from me  _ vibes.

 

“Oh yeah, yeah, yeah.” Thor holds up a hand, and backs away. He seems to remember the Asgardians all of a sudden, and turns back to them. “I was just congratulating these two! Bruce, this is Torhild and Vigdis. Vigdis is carrying a child!” 

 

The woman, who Bruce presumes is Vigdis (though, this  _ is  _ space, so who knows), smiles weakly. 

 

“That’s wonderful news.” And Bruce smiles, because it genuinely  _ is.  _ New life coming from the ruins of an old world. It is good news. “I’m a physician… if you - uh- ever need any help.”

 

“Thank you.” Vigdis whispers, under her breath, and then she and her partner (??) flee.

 

“Oh well, it’s a work in progress.” Thor watches them go with a frown. “I will convince the locals that you’re not about to lose your mind before this trip is over, I swear to the gods.”

 

“Good luck.” Like Bruce hasn’t been trying to do that for  _ years. _

 

“All is not lost, Bruce.” Thor grins, all the way to his eyes, and it’s like the sun’s finally come out. “I haven’t seen you for a few days. Are you well?”

 

“Slightly out of sorts, but no more than usual.” 

 

“Of course.” Thor nods, seriously. “And you are feeling better now?”

 

“...I - actually, yes.” Maybe it’s just the (slightly) fresher air, but he’s feeling better. Not amazing, but not as thoroughly jittery as he had been. 

 

“Good. Would you like food? I was just about to get some.”

And it’s like he doesn’t even  _ care  _ that Bruce was a shaking maniac in front of him a few days ago. He doesn’t hold it against him at all. It’s nice. It’s good. 

 

It’s a strange feeling. “I would like food, actually.”

 

“Great!” Thor leads him towards the dining hall with an outstretched palm. “You first.”

-   
  


The dining hall is empty - Bruce thinks it might be the middle of the night, though he can’t really tell because SPACE - so it’s not so troublesome to fix a whole bowl of SPACE FOOD (he thinks it’s animal-free, but he can’t tell anymore) and sit down at an empty seat beside Thor.

The seats littered around the edges of the room aren’t  _ quite  _ couches, but they’re far better than hardbacked chairs. 

 

“Huh, brave.” Thor says, as he sits.

 

“What?”

 

“That’s pretty spicy.” Thor gestures at… whatever it is that’s going on in his bowl. 

 

“Is it?” Bruce likes spicy food. He’s spent a lot of time out of the US and he’s developed a healthy appreciation for spicy food. Even the Hulk likes spicy food. He shrugs. “My funeral.” 

  
  


It’s not even spicy at all.

Full respect to the Asgardians for developing space travel and magic and an almost-Earthian appreciation for colonialism, but the people have absolutely no idea what spice is. 

Which actually makes a whole lot of sense.

  
  


Their meal is perfectly pleasing. 

Thor behaves himself, doesn’t break any homeware, and seems genuinely interested in listening to what Bruce has to say about the gadgets he was fussing about with. 

 

That is, until - “You were avoiding me, though, right?”

 

Bruce blinks and tries very hard to keep the [SPACE FOOD] down. “...do you want me to reply to that question honestly or…?”

 

“Yeah, I thought you were.” Thor sighs, and has the utmost indecency to look thoroughly hurt. “Why? If this was… going too fast, or whatever, you could have just said.”

 

“It wasn’t that.” Bruce sets his bowl aside and looks Thor straight in the eye. It’s not easy to do, it’s never been easy to do, but he tries his best. “Honestly. That’s going well. That’s going  _ great,  _ actually. It’s just- panic attacks are horrible. They’re very, very bad. It’s a shit situation that I wish you didn’t see. I felt… bad… about it.”

 

“You are embarrassed because of me?”

 

He does his best not to hang his head, but the impulse is still there. It’s a funny thing, shame. He doesn’t know why humans evolved to have it, and it’s thoroughly inconvenient. “A little.” 

 

“You should not be.” Thor holds his hand out. “May I?” 

 

Bruce considers for a moment. The Hulk’s satiated. If anything, he’s feeling  _ too  _ calm. There’s really no other answer Bruce can give. “Yes.”   
  


“Thanks.” Thor takes his hand, wraps his warm fingers around it, and squeezes gently. 

 

Gods, his hands are so big.

 

“I’ve seen you naked.” He rubs over the knuckles on Bruce’s fingers, pressure warm and soothing and  _ safe.  _ “I’ve seen you broken and brutalised and bloody. I was there when you woke up from two years in the body of your other. Do you really think you could do anything in a moment of vulnerability that I’d mock you for?”

 

The sincerity in his voice  _ hurts.  _ It really, really does. It sets off alarm bells in his head and suddenly, suddenly, he wants to get away. He stiffens, tries to pull back, but he can’t. The grip on his hand’s too tight. “Thor-”

 

“Gods, you are flightier than a marsh troll, aren’t you?” Thor doesn’t let go, just keeps on stroking his palm. “Look. Take a breath. I’m not your enemy. I just want you to know that you don’t need to run away.”

 

“It’s safer-”

 

“It’s not fucking safer.” And he doesn’t raise his voice, at all, but there’s presence in the words all the same. Sometimes it’s very easy to see how Thor became a king. “You destroying yourself isn’t safer. You’re a valuable member of the Revengers, and I’m not going to let you do this to yourself.”

 

The Revengers. He snorts again, takes a heavy breath in and then out. “I’m not actively trying to destroy myself.”

 

“Mmmm, really though?” Thor doesn’t look convinced. He sets Bruce’s hand back down. “Look- I was going to ask - before you disappeared for four days. You’re not really sleeping, are you?”

 

Sleeping is a word that’s very far removed from his personal dictionary. He only sleeps a full night if he’s recently been the Other Guy.

Anxiety is one hell of a drug. “No...”

 

“Spend a night with me!” And he says it  _ way  _ too fast for comfort. “Perfectly platonic. I swear.” 

 

‘Platonic’, huh? Bruce is fairly sure that Thor’s had platonic orgies. He says as much to the other man. “What would this ‘perfectly platonic’ night consist of?”

 

“Well, now, that’d be telling.” Thor seems surprised that he’s even considering it. He speaks again, boasting a little this time around. “I have over a thousand years more experience than you at sleeping. I once slept through my brother staging a coup. Think about what you could learn from me.”

 

If he’s honest, the thing sounds a whole lot like bullshit. “Sounds like you’re just trying to tempt me into bed.”

 

“Mmmmm.” Thor runs a finger over Bruce’s hand consideringly and then meets his eyes again. Lasciviously, he drawls, “When you’re ready, I’m not going to need to tempt you.” 

 

Huh. Um, wow. 

That there is the first thing Bruce has felt out of his libido in  _ years.  _

Well, that’s problematic. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whelp this chapter was only supposed to be about 1k.
> 
> Okay, so a note about Thor. I know I write him speaking vaguely colloquially. Thor in the first two movies speaks quite differently to Thor in the third, and personally, I see that as a sign of character growth - he's living on Earth, he's picked up a bit of our language and so forth. Hemsworth really brought in some Aussie character in Ragnarok and I really don't want to change that. I'm from down under myself so it's easier to write that way for me. If it annoys ya, let me know and I'll pare it back. 
> 
> also, turns out the giant ship is called the Statesman. Taika named all of the ships in Ragnarok after Holden models - Holden's a dying car brand that's very popular down here - and the Statesman is the one he used for the big ship. Very Kiwi. i love it.
> 
> some of this chapter contains an iffy portrayal of anxiety attacks. look, bruce may be a physician, but he's still allowed to see them as shitty things that he hates. he doesn't need to describe them as textbook, because they're his symptoms. (also, i hate that i have to say this, but he's not defending colonialism. that offhand comment was snark.)
> 
> thanks for all of your comments, love you all <3


	5. Chapter 5

He’s doing this.

_ Why  _ is he doing this?

This is all very dumb, but then again, it’s fairly hard to be in touch with your feelings when your feelings manifest themselves as a giant green rage monster.

 

Bruce suspects Jekyll and Hyde would have had the same problem. 

 

He just doesn’t know what Thor’s trying to get out of all of this - well, he  _ does  _ know what he’s trying to get out of this, he’s trying to help Bruce - but he doesn’t know if Thor’s trying to get  _ anything more  _ out of this. 

It is all very dumb. 

Because Bruce… wouldn’t be opposed. If Thor. Was trying to get something. More out of this. 

He’s a rational man. Despite everything that had… happened… last time he’d tried to take a relationship further, he knows that he’s very unlikely to fall into those troubles with Thor. 

It gives him courage, of sorts.

  
  


Thor brightens immediately when he opens the door. “Hi!” He exclaims, grinning wide. He’s wearing a different pair of sweatpants this time around - white ones, with lurid purple butterflies on them - and he smells really good.

 

But that’s just Thor. He smells good even after a big battle. It’s like effervescent leaks out of his pores.

It’s really very unfair. 

 

“I didn’t actually think you’d come.”

 

“I aim to disappoint in all things.” Bruce says, dryly.

 

It’s obvious that Thor doesn’t quite read the sarcasm because he says, “You shouldn’t say things like that about yourself. You’ve been doing that for years. You should stop.” 

 

Ugh. Bless Thor’s big,  _ big  _ heart. “It was a joke. I don’t spend that much time actively hating myself any more.” 

 

Thor just sighs and lets him into his quarters. It’s shiny, fit for a king, with diamond edges an-

 

“Thor, are those  _ candles?  _ Where on earth did you get candles?”

 

Through the haze in the room, Bruce can just see Thor winking. “You’d be surprised at what’s kept in the pilot’s cabin of a confiscated orgy ship.”

 

Well, that’s potentially disastrous. “This feels like a fire hazard.”

 

Thor sighs again. He’s been doing that a lot lately. “I assure you that I can handle fire. Your… uh… compatriot told me that I was a raging fire, once. He seemed quite sure of it.”

 

“...really?” Bruce has vague memories of that conversation. He’s fairly sure it didn’t play out exactly how Thor says it did.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Okay.” Bruce doesn’t have the energy to argue, and it’s a moot point anyway. “So. You told me to come here - you said you would help me. What are you intending to do?” He figures it’s probably best to ask.

 

Thor’s been living with humans for nearly ten years, but it is  _ always  _ safest to ask.

 

“I was thinking a meal first and then we’d see where the night takes us?”

 

Well, hell, he can’t exactly say no to that. 

  
  


The meal is some kind of light salad-type dish made up of things Bruce can’t identify. Thor sits across from him, eyes glinting in the candle light and points out the things that Bruce doesn’t recognise.

“That’s wrasa leaf.” He says, pointing at something purple and vaguely-kale shaped. Then, at a seed that looks like a cross between a pomegranate seed and a raspberry, “- that’s from the bud of a rhema flower.” 

 

And, you know, 

It’s nice.

 

“Did you make this yourself?” Bruce asks, actually curious. The salad is good. It’s tasty, with a hint of spice, and he much prefers it to weird, alien entrails. The Hulk’s quiet in his head too. He’s weirdly content. 

 

“Every man should know how to prepare food for their loved ones.” 

 

_ Loved ones?  _

That’s new.

 

But he agrees. There’s something so… good in it. “Yes… Tell me. When you were on Earth - did you ever get a chance to visit India?” 

 

“I didn’t. But I have heard stories. You lived there - before you joined the… Avengers, yeah?”

 

“Yes.” 

 

And not all of them are happy memories. He’d seen his fair share of horrors, from poverty to TB, and many others besides - but he’d seen beauty as well. “I worked in slums as an aid worker - I’m trained as a doctor, you know - one of the PHDs - and we helped out families who were struggling. It was easier - over there no-one knew me as the Hulk - I was just this doctor who helped people out.”

 

“And?” Thor asks, voice barely higher than a whisper.

 

He doesn’t know why he says it. Maybe it’s because he feels comfortable in the room, maybe it’s just the haze from the candles. Maybe it’s the look in Thor’s eyes. He’ll never know. “And I saw so much shit, you know, really terrible things. But there was beauty, as well. There were people surviving, people coming together to share food and share stories whenever we put meals on. I’m not trying to romanticise poverty or anything at all, but to see people eating together and loving each other and finding strength in the worst of circumstances - it’s  _ hopeful.  _ To see the Asgardians sticking together and finding things that help them live even after the end of their world - it’s a strength I don’t think I could ever have. You’ve done so well. Everyone’s  _ surviving _ .”

 

Thor swallows. 

Then he swallows again and croaks, “I’m sorry- I just- It’s just been… a lot. Of pressure. You understand?”

 

And he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. There’s no-one in the universe that could understand - could even  _ fathom  _ taking on the mantle that Thor has put upon himself. But he’s fairly good at reading people and Thor doesn’t seem like he wants to hear that. “Not entirely. But the pressure? People’s lives in your hands? I get that.”

 

“Good.” And Thor looks up at him and he’s actually honest to the gods crying, tears streaking silently down his face. 

 

Yeah, Bruce isn’t super great at this bit. He’s not… nearly… as touchy-feely as most of these situations warrant. But the man’s just lost his father. He’s just lost his home, a lot of his people, some of his closest friends. 

Bruce can push through his qualms for that. 

 

He gets up, moves around the table and takes Thor’s hands in his. “Do you want to sit - uh - elsewhere? Somewhere more comfortable?” 

 

“Yeah.” Thor says, and sniffs. It’s a bit of a strange look - to see someone of Thor’s stature and composure so… helpless - but it’s not at all a scenario that Bruce would pass judgment on. 

 

“I’m sorry.” The god gets to his feet, and drags Bruce with him. He makes a beeline for the bed near the back of the room and Bruce has no choice but to go along with it because Thor’s got a grip on his wrists. “This was- s-supposed to be your night. I shouldn’t be ruining it with my petty problems.”

 

“Taking on the mantle of a king is hardly a petty problem.” Bruce clambers onto the bed, still holding Thor by the hands. He crosses his legs. 

 

“Even so.” Thor sits on the end of the bed as well and kicks off his boots. Seeing him barefoot is strange. It feels vulnerable. Bizarre. “I admit… I may have lied earlier. I haven’t… exactly been sleeping much recently either.”

 

“Well, we’re both just a mess then. Nothing new.” Bruce turns his hands over in Thor’s grasp, digs his fingers in so they’re holding hands properly. 

 

It’s strangely intimate, here. The grasp Thor has on him isn’t restricting, doesn’t expect anything more, but it’s nice.

Here, he’s in control.

 

Thor sniffs again. He pulls his right hand from Bruce’s grasp and scrubs over his eyes with his sleeve, wincing when the tears stain the fabric.

 

“Well, now you’re going to have to get that dry-cleaned.” 

And that’s a joke that precisely  _ one  _ of them in the room gets, but it hangs in the air all the same. Bruce looks up at Thor, chews heavily at his bottom lip and thinks. “It’s okay to be… like this… you know? To have vulnerability. It’s okay to let go sometimes. You don’t have to be the badass Asgardian king all the time. If anything, your subjects would probably pleased to learn that you have the same desires and emotions as they do.”

 

Thor doesn’t say anything for a moment. His eyes are dark in the hazy air. He’s not crying anymore, not really, but there’s heaviness in them all the same. He swallows. It’s loud, almost too loud, in the silence around them. “Bruce.”

 

“Yes?”

 

It feels like they’re both waiting for a pin to drop.

 

It’s almost too much.

 

_ Almost. _

 

“Can I kiss you?”

 

Oh gods no.

Oh gods  _ - _

 

“ _ Yes _ .” It comes out shaky. 

  
  


He tastes of salted tears, and of brilliance and of nothing at all. 

 

Thor cups his head, draws him in deeper, and Bruce  _ lets him.  _ His heartbeat’s thudding in his ears, but it’s not too much, it’s  _ not  _ \- and the Other Guy feels the heat in his heart and doesn’t - he doesn’t do anything  _ at all.  _

Bruce wraps his arms around Thor’s back, moves in further, and suddenly he’s in Thor’s lap and everything’s suddenly far more interesting. But it’s not- they’re not ready for this - he can  _ feel  _ the exhaustion coursing through his veins, isn’t sure that it’s not Thor’s as well, and he.

 

Stops.

 

Pushes Thor back.

 

Thor’s shaking underneath him and although his eyes are bright and he seems more alive than he had been, there’s a weariness there. This is all a little bit far. They're both exhausted. This isn't the right time. 

 

“We should stop.” Bruce says, resoundingly, even though every cell in his body (even the radioactive ones) want him to continue.

 

“But -”

 

“Let’s go to bed. To sleep.”

 

“But, Bruce, I-”

 

“We’ll talk in the morning.” Bruce says, gently, and that seems to mollify the god. “Let’s… just get some sleep.”

  
  


With Thor beside him, he sleeps ten hours without dreaming.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> couple of notes of clarification - 
> 
> Bruce's anecdotes about working as an aid worker - this is based on the five minutes of his life that we saw in the Avengers. I'm not at all trying to romanticise poverty - I've lived on both sides of the equation, in severe poverty and also in the position of a volunteer trying to help out - and poverty fuckin sucks. It's exhausting and horrific and so, so draining. There is, however, a certain power in people surviving. People fighting through adversity and coming out the other side is so SO powerful. That's why I included the anecdote - because it had a certain relevancy.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s the first time he’s woken up without a headache in months.

 

Even as the Other Guy he’d always stumbled into waking with a thrumming restlessness in his head and aches and pains all over his body - like he’d not been able to fully relax in bed - like he’d not been fully able to release all of the tension of the day. 

 

But today -

It doesn’t hurt to wake up. 

Which is nice.

  
  


Bruce opens his eyes slowly to see Thor asleep next to him, one arm thrown haphazardly over his back. He’s stolen most of the covers, but the room’s fairly warm so it doesn’t really matter.

He’s shirtless, a true romantic-comedy fantasy in real life. He looks ridiculously good.

 

And really, this is the point where Bruce would normally end up feeling weird about it. He could very easily start spiralling, let the Other Guy’s constant rage and instability bubble up inside him and make him panic --

 

But he doesn’t. 

 

For once it’s easy enough to push the fear away.

Is this all it takes? A good night’s sleep with a beautiful person beside him? 

 

For God’s sake, if he’d known that he would have tried it years ago. But then again, Thor was a different person back then.

So was he.

It’s funny how a sojourn to an alien planet can change someone.

  
  


Thor huffs quietly and his hand moves on Bruce’s back, over his shirt. He doesn’t open his eyes, but he just says, “I can feel you thinking.”

 

“You’re awake - how long have you been awake?”

 

“Long enough.” He breathes slowly, deeply. It’s clear he’s relaxed too. 

 

Thor’s eyelashes are very long and very gold in the warm light of the bedroom. He’s a work of art to look at, almost. Oh, to be a god. “It wasn’t anything bad. Really. I was just - thinking. About this.”

 

“That sounds dangerous.”

 

“Don’t be mean. It’s just - I feel good. For the first time in a while. So. Thanks. Yeah. You know.”

 

Thor opens his eyes and blinks sleepily at him. It’s a nice look. “So what you are saying is that my plan worked?”

 

“I’m saying that I got a good night’s sleep last night. Nothing more, nothing less.” 

 

“You should trust my judgment more often, Banner.” Thor grins, cheekily, and utterly without shame. “Come here.”

 

He tugs gently on Bruce’s back and pulls him towards him - and Bruce just.  _ Does?  _ It’s too early in the morning to overthink anything - 

\- and perhaps he doesn’t want to.

 

It’s so easy to lean into the touch and let himself be moved. Thor flings his arm fully over his back and pulls him into his chest, letting his hand come down to rest at the nape of his neck. He’s very warm.

 

The embrace doesn’t feel sexual - not really - but it could very easily go that way, and for once in so many years, the thought doesn’t make Bruce anxious. 

In fact, he almost  _ wants  _ it.

 

He could write a thousand dissertations on the intersection of human and mutant sexuality and how trauma affects those inflicted with such conditions - however he’s fairly sure Charles Xavier’s got that covered - and really, he’s not in the mood right now. Anything he’s thinking is far from professional, and yet, he’s not sure that he minds.

 

“While this embrace is very pleasing,” Thor rumbles, voice utterly content, “There are far more interesting things that we could be doing.”

 

Bruce snorts and buries his head in Thor’s chest, “You’re subtle.”

 

“I have been entertaining varieties of these thoughts for several years now,” comes Thor’s reply, “You cannot blame me for trying.”

 

Several years? Well, that’s new. 

But right now, when he’s pain-free and content?

It’s not like he’s going to say no.

  
  


They kiss almost lazily, hands loose and roaming in the warmth of the morning. It’s nice, this. It feels good. 

 

Thor doesn’t even have morning breath. He tastes like something unfamiliar, edged with honey - is this one of the results of sleeping with a god? Are all gods like this?

It’s really very unfair.

 

Somewhere in the confusion and the warmth and the taste of Thor underneath him, they’ve both lost their shirts. And while still comfortable, the whole thing’s lost some of its playfulness - there’s stakes now, almost. Desires. Things Bruce hasn’t felt in a long, long time. He wants to lean into them, make something of them. He just  _wants_ so much, okay? 

 

“Is this what you want?” Thor pulls back, leans his forehead against his. He’s panting, too, looking thoroughly debauched, and Bruce gets a sudden flash of pleasure from the look. He did that. He made it happen.

 

He’s got no doubt in his mind when he answers. “Yes. Just be… Careful. I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

Thor chuckles, the movement coursing through his entire body and pulls back to look him straight in the eye. “Really? You hurt me? I’d like to see you try.”

 

And the fact that Thor isn’t afraid - isn’t worried that he’s going to  _ break,  _ or  _ change _ , or do anything that so many others have worried about in the last few years - is almost erotic in its simplicity. “Oh my God, come here.”

And Thor does.

 

They don’t really speak for a while, after that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know, I've always seen the Hulk as sort of a chronic illness, almost? Maybe I'm just equating my own perception of my own chronic illnesses with Bruce's experiences, but that's why I've mentioned the relief at being pain-free, the spoon theory, things like that - while the Hulk does help Bruce and a lot of chronic illnesses don't help a person, they feel like they're similar things. 
> 
> Thoughts on that?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home.

It’s strange how their relationship doesn’t really seem to change, after that. 

 

The Asgardians look at him strangely, because of course they do. Sigrid shoots daggers at him every time they pass in the corridors, but he’s  _ content. _

 

There haven't been many people in his life that have cared for him in quite the way that Thor seems to. Hell, he'd nearly describe it as  _ love _ . Which is weird, and terrifying, and scary, and a whole other bunch of emotions that he's not felt in a long time and he's not sure he'll ever feel again. Thor has such a big heart, and is so ready and willing to open it to others - it just hurts, sometimes, you know? But it's nice. He's content. 

 

That is, until Loki drops down beside him one morning and terrifies him out of his wits. He's not scared of Loki. Really, he's not. He's just... uncomfortable around him. Unsure of things. The Other Guy and Loki have a past and it is very hard to de-tangle oneself from that sort of conditioning. He needs a moment to come back to himself. To breathe. To remember what that's like. He grips his hands around the chair underneath him, feels the tacky, almost leather-like material, and BREATHES. 

Loki just seems to loom as he does, staying mercifully silent for the time being. 

 

Bruce pushes past the panic attack, past the green he's sure that's tinting his skin, and reopens his eyes. "What. Was that for." He says, and glares at the god. 

 

He's sure that he's still a tiny bit green, because Loki pales, almost imperceptibly. "I was just coming here to warn you." Loki says, and says it in a way that makes it seem like he's doing Bruce a favor. He's really not. 

 

"Warn me? What about?" 

 

"My brother." And Loki says it in such a way that makes it seem terribly serious. Like he's got a terrifying god-based secret about Thor or something that's going to tear their relationship apart at the seams. Which he doesn't - as Bruce realises when he continues his sentence. "If you break his heart I'll tear you apart and scatter your limbs so far across the galaxy that no-one in the universe would be able to reassemble you." 

 

Bruce is sure that his words are supposed to be threatening, but really, the drama in them just makes him want to laugh. Which he does. "Loki. Come on. You've known me for at least six years. Do you really think I'd do anything to harm your brother? He cares more for me than anyone ever has." 

 

"Hmph." Loki just turns tail, not bothering to reply, and flounces off. He looks a little like a cat whose evil plans have just been scuppered. 

 

Bruce sits back in his chair and focuses more on returning his heartbeat back to normal. The encounter with the trickster had flustered him, slightly, despite his outward bravado. 

Aside from the fact that Loki used to be a homicidal dictator hell-bent on taking over Earth - the fact that he cares about his brother so much is actually rather sweet. Bruce never thought he’d see the day that Loki showed an ounce of vulnerability, and he’s almost pleased that he managed to drag it out of him.

  
  


The days pass… slowly. 

 

Bruce isn’t fantastic with touch - still - but he didn’t really think he was broken to begin with. Learning to let people in takes time, and effort, but he’s getting there. Recovery is a process, and he’s got someone to help him with it, this time around. 

Thor is a shining, selfless light, and he doesn’t know how he got so lucky.

 

By the time they land on Earth, he’s gotten a hold of the Other Guy, and gotten a hold on his soul, and he feels a lot more like Bruce again.

It’s… nice.

 

Tony greets them when they disembark the Statesman, surrounded by a bunch of his suits, and none of the Avengers. 

 

He doesn’t look wary, really - just curious.

 

“Sure took your sweet time getting back here, Brucie.” He says, and without warning, envelops him in a hug.

 

Which is weird, for Tony.

 

And even more so for Bruce.

 

Seems like distance really does make the heart grow fonder. Or something. 

 

“I ran into some familiar faces.” He says, and gestures towards Thor, Loki, and Brunnhilde. 

 

Tony bristles a little at the sight of the green god, but doesn’t set any of the suits off, which is a good sign. “Who’s your friend?”

 

“Brunnhilde. She’s-”  _ Amazing,  _ he wants to say, but that doesn’t quite cover it. Words don’t ever really suffice to describe literal gods.

 

“Okay. Good. Loki’s not up to any of his old tricks, is he? I’d really prefer not to blow any of you out of the sky.” 

 

“My home’s been destroyed, Stark, and I have left my betrothed on a distant planet. I am not in the mood to play tricks.” Loki calls, from behind him, and slumps down to sit on a log.

 

_ Betrothed?  _ He can’t mean… Bruce doesn’t even want to think about the logistics of  _ that.  _ He’s never going to be able to watch  _ Jurassic Park  _ ever again.

 

“...Asgard’s been destroyed?” Tony asks, something vaguely resembling an edge of hysteria creeping into his voice.

 

Bruce doesn’t blame the guy. It’s been a weird day.

 

“Yes,” Thor replies, and thumps down the ramp of the Statesman with quite some gusto. “We were required to bring upon Ragnarok to prevent my sister from destroying our people after we evacuated them into this here ship.” He thumps the side of the Statesman with one hand. A piece of the hull shatters and slips to the grass below. “It was a most magnificent fight, Stark.” 

 

“Swell, Point Break, just swell.” Tony massages his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Are you telling me that there’s a bunch of refugees inside your ship?”

 

“Yes.” Bruce replies. “We were hoping to find a place to set them up here, actually.”

 

“Christ. With this government?” Tony mutters, under his breath. “Ah. Yes. Shit. I’ll sort something out. Do you have anywhere in mind?”

 

“My people are not picky.” Thor wanders over and grasps Bruce by the waist, pulling him close with a gentle hand. “Whatever my betrothed agrees upon will be fine, provided there is adequate arable land for my people to grow crops.”

 

Tony looks the pair of them up and down for a moment, a smirk growing wider and wider on his face.

 

Bruce blushes under the look, just a little, but there’s really nothing to be done about that.

  
“Oh my God, Bruce. Point Break. You two? You’ve been off-” Tony’s gesture is far from appropriate for the situation, but it’s not entirely inaccurate, “-canoodling for three years while we’ve all been arguing? Holy shit. This is the best day.”

 

“Yes, yes, you can stop looking so smug.” Bruce says, and gestures around at the scene behind him. It’s a little hard to do with Thor so tight against his side, but he just about manages it. “The Asgardians? The pressing issue?”

 

“Yeah, I’ll get Pepper right on it.” Tony waves a dismissive hand in the direction of the suits. They step back, lowering their repulsors, and all but two of them power down completely. “So, tell me-”

 

“What do you mean ‘you’ve all been arguing’?” Thor interjects. “Where are the rest of our friends, Stark? I do miss them.”

 

“Ah. Yes.” Tony says, and the lines around his eyes get a little more pronounced, just for a moment. “...let me tell you about a little something called the Accords…”

  
  


Bruce gets about four sentences into his _ Thaddeus Ross is a Bad Person and Shouldn’t Ever Be Trusted, What the Hell Did You Do, Tony? _ speech before Tony relents, drops back a little, and finds the Asgardians an uninhabited island off the coast of Norway as an apology. Thor goes with them, apparently just for a while, to help them settle in. 

It takes a couple of days to find the rest of the Avengers and convinces them to join back together. It’s not like it’s a strong relationship, and it’ll probably never be the same as it once was, but it’s better than having no defense against anything that comes to destroy them.

He’s seen one world lost in the chaos and hubris of humanity. He’s not going to see another.

  
  


And after all that, he sleeps. Tony offers him his old room in Stark Tower - all soft furnishings, warm light and endless bookshelves, and he does his best to get to sleep at about 1am, the heart of the city vibrating below him, pulsing unfamiliarity and oddness through his head and down his spine.

 

He can’t sleep.

 

He doesn’t know if he wants to.

 

After so long in space, after the cages and bars of Sakaar and the hum of a spaceship, the city doesn’t feel like home any more.

 

He never thought he’d  _ want  _ the simplicity of space.

 

He never thought he’d  _ want  _ Thor. 

  
He... doesn't know what he wants.

 

All he knows is that he misses home, and he's not even sure whether that is any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _What have you been doing in the nine months since you last updated this fic?_
> 
> Directing four theatre shows, moving house and getting a Masters degree. It's been a long... existence.
> 
> _You know that you basically could have gestated and birthed a child since you updated this fic, right?_
> 
> I am _so_ aware. Thankfully, I did not.
> 
> _Are you going to update this fic within the next eight months?_
> 
> Hope so!
> 
>  
> 
> Love you all <3

**Author's Note:**

> check me out on the [ tumblr ](http://villainousfilmmaker.tumblr.com)


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